


and then you say

by carolinecrane



Category: Newsies (1992)
Genre: Community: hc_bingo, Established Relationship, M/M, Runaway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-09
Updated: 2012-08-09
Packaged: 2017-11-11 18:14:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolinecrane/pseuds/carolinecrane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follows <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/444217">nothing says 'I love you' (like blackmail)</a>.  Racetrack's Manhattan and Spot's Brooklyn, but sometimes, when they're alone, he can believe they're just them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and then you say

Most days, once he unloads all his papes, Racetrack heads into Sheepshead with his earnings for a little action. Whenever anybody asks he tells them it’s just another part of doing business; if his regulars see him betting on the horses, they’re more likely to take his word when he says he’s got a good tip just for them, so long as they’re willing to buy a pape. But the truth is he just likes the rush of putting down money on a horse and coming away with more than he had going in.

Some days he leaves with nothing at all, but he tries not to dwell on those days.

Today when he sells his last pape, he doesn’t follow his customers into the races. Instead he pockets his earnings and leans against the wall outside the gate, lights a cigar he lifted from a regular customer and tries not to look like he’s waiting. But he is, and when Spot finally shows up, grinning like a cat with a whole bowl full of cream, Racetrack knows he’s not fooling anybody.

“Waitin’ for somebody?” Spot asks, leaning against the wall next to Racetrack with his hands in his pockets. Racetrack takes another puff off his cigar and looks around, but nobody’s paying them any attention. As far as the regulars at Sheepshead know they’re just a couple of Newsies, and nobody notices Newsies until they’re in the market for a pape.

“Yeah,” Racetrack answers, because they both know what he’s doing out here, and he figures he owes Spot the truth after what he almost did to them.

“Good.” Spot grins again, like he means it, then he jerks his head in the direction of their usual spot and pushes himself off the wall.

For a second Racetrack watches him go, then he stubs out his cigar and tucks it carefully in his pocket before he follows. By the time he catches up Spot’s already leaning against the wall behind the stables, back out of the way of the jockeys and even the boys who muck out the stalls. They’ve never been caught, so Racetrack doesn’t know what would happen if they were, but he doesn’t let that stop him from letting Spot grip the front of his vest and pull him close.

Spot’s mouth is warm against his, softer than Racetrack expects even though Spot’s kissed him plenty of times. His hands make up for it, though, fingers digging in hard when he hauls Racetrack forward to press them together from their mouths to their ankles.

Not that Racetrack’s complaining. This is his favorite thing about Spot, the way he takes what he wants and doesn’t worry about the consequences. The way he just expects Racetrack to go along with it, and considering the fact that Racetrack hasn’t turned him down yet, he figures maybe Spot’s got a right to think so.

He thinks about putting up a fight when Spot stops kissing him, but before he makes up his mind Spot’s dragging him around the corner and lifting up a loose board in the back of the stable wall to let Racetrack crawl through. Spot follows him in, and when Racetrack looks around they’re in one of the stalls at the back of the stables. There’s no hay laid down in this one, like maybe it hasn’t been used in a while, but Racetrack can hear the sounds of horses snorting, and he can smell oats and hay and horse droppings, so he can tell they’re not far from the action.

“What if somebody...?”

That’s as far as he gets before Spot’s pulling him close again, tugging his cap off and kissing him hard. “They won’t if you keep your trap shut.”

It’s a pretty big gamble, but Racetrack can’t concentrate on figuring the odds while Spot’s kissing him like he’s trying to prove a point. It hasn’t been that long since they were this close; just a few nights ago they slept side by side for the first time, but they couldn’t do much besides sleep while they were surrounded by a roomful of Newsies.

After that they couldn’t do more than grin and exchange a couple words between the shouting at the hearing and then the rally, so in a way Racetrack figures they’re making up for lost time. In a way that’s how it always feels when Spot shows up at Sheepshead, like they’re hiding out from the rest of the world, stealing time when they should both be somewhere else.

But ever since Racetrack tried to bribe Spot to help out with the strike and then Spot forgave him, ever since they spent a whole night together without even really doing anything, it feels...different. Better, definitely, but bigger too, like they’re both finally admitting to something they still haven’t put in words. Chances are they won’t ever say it, but they both keep leaving their other lives behind to meet up in spite of the risks, so maybe they don’t have to.

He lets Spot push him up against the wooden slats, ignores the creaking sound they make and grips Spot’s suspenders to pull him closer. There’s noise all around them, horses and jockeys and the boys who work the stables, and further off, the distant sounds of the announcer calling the races. But Spot’s hands are pushing under his vest, hot against his skin and making Racetrack moan against his mouth, and he forgets all about who might find them back here.

A knee presses between his thighs, pushing up until Racetrack lets out an embarrassing squeak and tightens his grip on the front of Spot’s shirt. He bucks forward, searching for more friction, but instead of giving him what he wants Spot pulls back to look at him.

“Say it.”

For a second or two Racetrack blinks stupidly at him, trying to work out what Spot’s asking for. They don’t talk about this stuff; they don’t talk at all, usually, not when they’re alone like this. But everything’s different now, since Racetrack crossed a line he’d thought there was no going back from, and for some crazy reason Spot let him take it back anyway.

“What...” he finally manages, blushing all the way to the tips of his ears at the thought of the things Spot might want to hear.

Spot grins like maybe he knows what Racetrack’s thinking, then he leans in and brushes his lips across the skin just below Racetrack’s ear. “You know I like hearing you beg.”

The sound of Spot’s voice in his ear makes him blush even harder, but he knows what he owes Spot, and if that’s what he wants...well, it’s easier than some of the things Spot could ask for.

“Please, Spot,” Racetrack says, hands twisting in the front of his dingy shirt. “I can’t...I been thinking about this since that night in the Refuge.”

“Thinking about what?” Spot says, mouth still pressed against Racetrack’s skin and sending little shivers of want down his spine.

“About you and me. About how I thought maybe this wasn’t ever gonna happen again.”

“I shoulda let you twist a while longer,” Spot says, pulling back far enough to look at Racetrack. “Woulda served you right.”

“I know. You’re right, I deserved it. Spot, please, I’m begging here...”

Spot cuts him off with a hard kiss, teeth clicking and hands gripping Racetrack’s sides hard. His thigh presses into Racetrack’s groin, making him moan against Spot’s mouth and then Spot’s tongue is pushing past his teeth, and Racetrack moans again and tries to drag him even closer. It’s always like this between them, fast and rough and mostly they don’t even take off any clothes, because somebody could walk in on them any second, and they have to be ready to run.

But they know what it’s like now to spend the night together, and even though nothing happened, Racetrack can’t help wishing it could be like that sometimes. He wishes they could take their time, wishes he could really _look_ at Spot, and doesn’t even mind the thought of Spot looking back.

He wonders if it’ll ever happen, if maybe someday, when they’re not selling papes on the street anymore, if they’ll still be _them_. If there’s any chance at all of a little room somewhere with a bed to go home to at the end of the day, when they’re both working in the factories the way their pops probably would have, if they’d bothered to stick around. Sometimes Racetrack thinks that would be enough, as long as Spot was there with him, as long as he still wanted Racetrack around.

“Race,” Spot whispers against his lips, and it sounds kinda desperate, like maybe he’s thinking the exact same thing.

“Please,” Racetrack says again, and he doesn’t even know what he’s asking for anymore, but when fingers tug his buttons open and a hand slides into his breeches, he stops thinking at all.

There are a lot of things Racetrack wants to say, stuff he’s always thought Spot wouldn’t want to hear. He’s starting to think he’s maybe been wrong about that, but it’s a big risk to take, so instead he just pants helplessly against Spot’s mouth until his whole body goes limp and he slumps back against the wooden slats still holding him up.

Warm lips brush across his cheek, then his eyelids, and when Racetrack opens his eyes Spot’s looking right at him. His eyes are darker than usual, lips red and swollen and the look on his face makes Racetrack’s heart beat too fast. He slides a hand around the back of Spot’s neck and pulls him forward, kissing him slow while he reaches between them and unbuttons Spot’s breeches the same way Spot did for him.

And maybe _this_ is his favorite thing about Spot, because he’s pretty sure there’s nobody else who can take Spot Conlan apart this way, make him pant and moan and demand _more_ and _faster_ and _Race_ until he lets go and leaves Racetrack’s fingers wet and sticky and his neck hot with Spot’s frantic, breathless kisses.

He’s not sure how long they stay like that, Spot leaning hard against him and pressing lazy kisses to the side of Racetrack’s neck. He wishes they could stay that way forever, just forget about all of Spot’s boys back at the pier and Jack and the others back in Manhattan. He wishes it could just be the two of them, with nobody around to tell them they shouldn’t want this.

But he knows better, and when Racetrack hears the announcer in the distance he knows they’re running out of time. So he reaches between them to button Spot up again, then he pulls his own clothes back together and straightens them both out the best he can. When Spot grins at him and brushes another kiss across his mouth Racetrack’s heart does a weird little jig, but he ignores it and gives Spot a playful shove.

“You better get back to your boys before they start wondering where you ran off to.”

“What about Jackie boy?” Spot asks, hands on Racetrack’s vest to tug him close again. “He know where you run away to every day?”

"I ain’t running away. It’s all about supply and demand,” he says, grinning when Spot laughs.

It’s true, because yeah, technically Sheepshead is in Spot’s territory, but none of his boys ever bother crossing the bay to sell over here, so it’s not like Racetrack’s poaching anybody’s sales. The first time Spot came out here looking for him Racetrack figured he was in for a soaking, but that’s not the way it happened, and after that Spot just showed up sometimes. 

Not all the time, but often enough, and Racetrack had never been brave enough to ask why. Mostly he figured Spot came looking for him because he knew nobody else would be around to see them, and he knew Racetrack was willing to scratch whatever itch he had.

But he knows Spot now, knows how much people expect from him and how much they rely on him, and sometimes he wonders if Spot needs someplace to run to get away from all that when it gets to be too much.

“Why’d you come out here, that first time?”

“You talk too much, you know that?” Spot answers, irritated, but he’s not pulling away, so Racetrack knows he hasn’t pushed too far just yet.

“I just been wondering, that’s all. I mean, that first time I figured you was coming out to soak me for selling in your territory, but you didn’t bring any of your boys with you.”

“What, you think I couldn’t take you by myself?” Spot asks, and Racetrack knows better than to answer that, because he’s always thought of himself as more of a lover than a fighter, but he still has a rep to protect. “Maybe I came out here planning on teaching you a lesson about staying on your side of the bridge. But then I figured we could probably work out some kind of arrangement.”

“So...what, this is your take of the profits?” Racetrack says, and he’d be insulted if Spot’s fingers weren’t sort of curling in the hair at the back of his neck like he doesn’t want to let Racetrack go.

“For starters, maybe,” Spot answers, shrugging like it’s no big deal. Like it’s just business, only none of this feels like just business anymore.

“And now?”

“Now I figure you’ve been working Sheepshead long enough to make you honorary Brooklyn,” Spot says, and he’s grinning, but Racetrack’s known him long enough to tell he’s not as sure of himself as he wants Racetrack to think. “Even if you do go slumming in Manhattan most nights.”

“Most nights?” Racetrack says, because he can’t think of a night he hasn’t spent in Manhattan since he landed in Jack’s crew all those years ago.

Spot shrugs again, then he glances down at Racetrack’s vest and tugs on the fabric before he looks up again. “Could be you’ll want to stick around this side of the bridge some night, see how the other half lives.”

“That an offer?” Racetrack asks, but his heart’s pounding so loud against his ears he’s not sure he’ll be able to hear Spot’s answer. Then Spot grins and reaches for Racetrack’s hand, tugging him toward the loose board that will let them back out of the stables.

“Call it a business proposition,” Spot says. “Everybody knows Brooklyn’s the friendliest place on earth. We always pull out all the stops for visitors.”

“I thought I was honorary Brooklyn already,” Racetrack says, but he follows Spot back through the wall, and when Spot pushes him up against the wood on the other side, Racetrack doesn’t fight him.

“That’s up to you,” Spot says, then he kisses Racetrack again, long and slow and before Racetrack’s brain stops working completely he thinks that, yeah, he kinda likes the sound of that.


End file.
